Panic
by SophieRomanoff
Summary: 'Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were not strangers to anxiety and panic attacks. They could come out of nowhere, and were intense and downright scary sometimes.' Natasha has a bad panic attack, Clint is at her side. Day 20 of prompt challenge, enjoy!


Hey everyone! Welcome to day 20. Before anyone says this chapter isn't realistic, I have major panic attacks myself so trust me I know what I'm writing. This chapter is shorter and probably less interesting but hey, I'm trying.

Other than that, enjoy!

PANIC

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were not strangers to anxiety and panic attacks.

They could come out of nowhere, and were intense and downright scary sometimes.

They never happened during a mission, let psych try to figure that one out, so they were never taken out of combat for their anxieties.

Natasha knew most of her triggers. Pitch darkness, being touched without permission, loud noises like fireworks.

But sometimes the triggers would be things considered harmless, like a door slamming or someone talking Russian.

And then there were the panic attacks that came out of nowhere.

She and Clint had been winding down after a mission, watching some shitty spy movie on TV.

She could feel the beginnings of it start in her chest.

There was an invisible weight pressing against her chest, hands tightening around her throat and the inexplicable urge to run away in her head.

Natasha pushed herself off the couch, taking a staggering step back till her back hit the wall.

She was vaguely aware of Clint in front of her, saying words she couldn't hear.

Her breathing came fast and ragged, her chest heaving as her nails scrambled across the skin of her throat.

Her vision blurred and she slammed down to her knees, struggling desperately to try and get air into lungs that felt the size of a penny.

She clutched at Clint's arms, inviting him silently to touch her, to try and help.

She felt hands over her face and stroking her hair, holding her shoulders as he spoke to her.

She was getting dizzy with the lack of oxygen, the sound of roaring in her ears.

Her numbed fingers scrabbled for purchase, her eyelids fluttering.

The last thing she heard was a panicked cry of her name before she slumped into something warm and everything went dark.

...

Clint had been happily enjoying some downtime, his arms wrapped around Natasha as they watched a film.

He was actually really enjoying it so it took him a minute to realise Natasha was pulling away.

"Tash?" He asked softly, following her as she stood but not touching her as she backed herself against the wall.

"Natasha, you're okay. Can you look at me?"

She didn't seem to hear him and he worried as he watched her frantic, frenzied breaths.

Her eyes were glazed, and he got the feeling she could barely hear him.

Her breathing worsened and her nails drew blood as they dug into the skin at her neck.

He didn't touch her, knowing how that could make it worse.

But then she was digging into his arms and inviting him in and he touched her.

He stroked through her hair, cupping her face to try and get her to look at him.

She was struggling weakly now, her entire being trembling as she openly gasped for air.

A few seconds later, she was slumping towards him.

He caught her, pressing her to her chest as she collapsed, passing out with a stuttered gasp, her eyes rolling back into her head.

"Natasha?!"

Clint swallowed and picked her up, holding her gently.

Her lips were a little blue so instead of taking her to bed, he took her down to medical.

He pushed through the doors, passing Phil was getting his arm re-wrapped after he'd gotten caught with a knife the day before.

Phil stood, following his agents to an empty room.

The doctor that had been helping Phil, stepped towards them.

"Agent Barton, what happened?" He asked, quickly hooking Natasha up to the monitor.

Her pulse flashed up, fast but strong, her oxygen below 80.

"She had a...real bad panic attack." He exchanged a glance with Phil.

"She passed out, couldn't get enough air."

The doctor nodded, gently placing an oxygen mask over her face.

"We'll run some tests, see if there's any other reason she may have been struggling to breathe." He said softly.

Clint thanked him, the doctor leaving to go book the scanner.

Clint sighed softly, taking Natasha's hand in his.

Coulson stepped beside him, pressing a hand against his shoulder.

"She'll be alright, Clint." He murmured.

...

She was alright.

Ten minutes later, her oxygen was almost back to normal and she was stirring.

She blinked slowly, flicking her eyes over to Clint and Phil.

"Ugh...what the hell?"

"You remember what happened?" Clint murmured.

The redhead nodded stiffly. "Unfortunately. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. They're gonna take you for some tests, see if anything physical is wrong. But you're oxygen is normal again, so I doubt it."

"Nothing is wrong. Not physically wrong. I know it. It's my head...I'm fucked up." She mumbled.

Clint winced and Phil shook his head.

"You are not." They said in unison.

"We can take a look at your meds, well psych can, see if they can change your anxiety ones. Or up them. It'll be alright." Phil said softly.

"I've got work to do, I'll book a meeting with psych. Come find me if you need me." He pressed a hand to their shoulders and turned to leave.

Clint sighed heavily and drew a pattern on Natasha's palm.

She slid herself up on the bed, pulling the mask off.

Her vitals were good so he let her, moving to sit beside her on the bed.

"Can I hold you?"

"Please." She whispered.

He took her in his arms, kissing the side of her head.

"It's gonna be alright, Natasha. We'll figure this out."

She believed him.


End file.
